Seek and Kill
by jessng
Summary: Roger? What Roger? Roger isn't here. Has never been. (The characters also include Simon but the limit is four so I can't add him)
1. Snap

Warning: Graphic depiction of violence and horror elements.

Based on the urban legend of _The Midnight Man_ and the game _Hide and Seek_.

Yes, I do write horror stories.

* * *

"This game is the combination of the urban legend _The Midnight Man_ , and the game _Hide and Seek_." Roger's eyes moved along the letters on the laptop's screen as he read the information on the website. Behind him, Ralph, Jack, Simon, and Maurice were also reading silently in their heads. It was Halloween, and they were having a sleepover at Jack's house (or mansion), since his parents weren't home that night. They were all sick of the annual _Trick or Treat_ , so, instead, they went on the internet in search for a scary sleepover game to entertain themselves. Of course, Simon disapproved of this idea, saying that they didn't know what they were going to mess with, but, in the end, was peer-pressured into joining the others.

Maybe it was a bad idea, but, as of now, none of them had admitted that they were scared of what they were going to take part in, even though all of them had some doubt in the safety of the ritual they were about to perform.

"To begin the game, choose one person to be _The Midnight Man_ 's physical body and give everyone a flashlight, except for the person who will be possessed by _The Midnight Man_. Perform this ritual to summon _The Midnight Man_ : write everyone's names on a piece of paper, the chosen one's name should be written in red ink. Place the piece of paper in front of a door, preferably one that leads to the outside. Everyone, except for the chosen one hold hands, while the chosen one knocks on the door twenty two times. After the final knock, everyone counts down from twenty two and scatter around the house. The game begins." Roger scrolled down the page as he kept reading. All of the lights around the house was shut off to set the mood, and the only light source was from the laptop's screen, plus Ralph's phone as he was checking his Instagram.

"From that point on, everyone has to move around the house or hide, trying to avoid _The Midnight Man_. Non-players should be invisible to _The Midnight Man_ , but it is advised that they stay clear from the house while the game takes place. Winning this game means that everyone successfully avoids _The Midnight Man_ for the entire night. It is like a game of _Hide and Seek_ , except that if he finds a player, he will kill and disembody him/her, placing his/her head in front of the door where he was summoned." Jack continued after his friend, brushing a curly lock of red hair out of his eyes. "Legend has it that even if you win the game, _The Midnight Man_ never truly leaves the chosen one's body. He will always be there, watching, so be careful." He ended the sentence in a scaredy cat voice, then bursted out in laughter, contagiously making Ralph and Maurice do the same.

That went on for a while, then, they stopped. They were pretty certain that this wasn't plausible. Ghosts or entities like _The Midnight Man_ weren't real, and they knew it. There were no way the whole "possessing" ordeal could be true. However, despite the barking laughter, all of them still had doubt. They didn't share it to one another, but all of them knew their friends were, somehow, a little frightened by these unreal tales.

"Okay, I'm going to get the flashlights. We're playing this. You guys coming?" Jack said, then started walking out of the room. Ralph and Maurice followed him, leaving Roger and Simon in the room.

Roger moved the mouse to close the browser, then left the laptop there and stood up to join the others on their scavenge for flashlights that still worked in Jack's mansion of a house. Simon, however, stayed back and opened the web browser again. He searched the exact words Roger had, about fifteen minutes ago, when they were looking for a game to play. The results appeared in front of his eyes. He scrolled down to the bottom of the page, finding nothing that matched the previous site. There was definitely something wrong with this game. It disappeared right after they read about it.

For a moment, he felt chills running down his spine, and he shivered a little. It was October, and he was indoor, so it couldn't possibly be so cold that he had to shiver. Maybe he was just overreacting and he had somehow missed the website somewhere on the page. He closed the web browser and looked away from the screen.

Hands grabbed at his shoulders.

Simon jumped. His heartbeat raised and his eyes opened wide. His hands shook as he slowly turned around, trying to register the fact that maybe he was just hallucinating, and maybe that was just Roger trying to scare him again. His eyes met with a few strands of dark hair, Roger's. He let out a sigh of relief, but then stiffened again as cold fingers touched his neck. Simon always knew Roger's hands weren't exactly warm, but he never thought they would be this cold, like that of a _corpse_.

"R– Roger?" He asked him, his voice shakily small. The fingers were pressing at his throat now, and he could practically feel the sharp nails digging down. Simon gasped painfully.

The smell of a rotten dead body filled the room.

"Roger? _What_ Roger?" That voice wasn't exactly the one of his friend. Sweat pooled inside Simon's palms. He tried to stay as still as possible with the blind hope that maybe, just maybe, whatever it was that used to be Roger would change its mind and not kill him. "Roger isn't _here_."

The hands moved to the side of Simon's neck and near the top of his head.

" _Has never been_."

 _Snap._


	2. Chop

"Where's Simon?" Jack asked curiously when he saw Roger descending down the stairs to the back door.

It was Ralph's idea to perform the ritual there, since the blonde was a little paranoid about the game and he wanted at least a way leading to the street if anything went wrong. Jack joked about how his friend was a coward, but was relieved himself to know that the summoning wasn't going to take place at the main entrance, their best chance of escaping the house. At that point, Maurice was too oblivious to even bother choosing the location, so he just went with the flow. They had had everything set up at the door. It was simple, actually, and they had only been waiting for Roger and Simon to arrive downstairs.

"Not playing." The dark-haired teenager replied simply, then went on. Roger was always like that, consistent.

"Coward." A snort came from Jack, even though he was a little scared himself. He had too much pride to own up to it, however, so there was no going back for him. He looked over to Maurice, who was playing with one of the flashlights, making shadows on the wall, and Ralph, who was _still_ on his phone, maybe hitting on some hot girls or something like that.

Jack approached them. It was almost midnight. The clock's hands were moving, and their ticking sounds were becoming obnoxiously hair-raising. He saw Ralph opening his front camera in an attempt to fix his messy blonde hair and sighed. The cheeky bastard was always worried about his looks, and maybe fixing his hair would be the last thing he did before dying in a gruesome death. Roger was drumming his fingers on the flat surface of the wall next to him, and Maurice was still messing around with the flashlight. It looked as thought it was about to he out of battery, so, if anything, Jack wasn't going to take that flashlight with him in the game. He grabbed himself one of the equipment. For a brief moment, he contemplated what Simon was doing if he wasn't participating in the game.

"So.. who's going to be the chosen one?" Ralph asked the group as he looked away from his phone. He pressed the top button to turn the phone off, then shoved it into his shirt pocket. The blonde asked Maurice to give him the flashlight, then shone it at the clock. It was eleven fifty five.

"If anything, I'm hiding, hands down." Maurice stated, grabbing the last flashlight. He was excited for a good scary game, and was, in truth, a little bit worried, but it was only a little bit.

"I will." Roger volunteered himself, looking around for his friends' approval. They all nodded, since they all knew Roger was always pumped for these kinds of creepy rituals.

Maurice proceeded to write their four names on a prepared piece of paper, Roger's written in red ink. He glanced at the clock, eleven fifty nine. It was almost midnight. There was no going back from this point on, and if he did try to stop before the game started, he would be considered a craven. Maurice knew he didn't really care what people called him, but it bothered him a little if his friends called him names. He was the funny one, and he was supposed to give people funny nicknames, not the other way around. His heart raised, and now that he realized it, his palms had been sweating.

The clock struck midnight. Its bell made them all jump.

Roger took the piece of paper from Maurice and put it in front of the door. He stood there while the other three walked a few steps back and held hands. His left knuckle raised up and knocked on the wooden door. One. Two. Three. The sound was rhythmic in their ears as they all counted. Four. Five. Six. It continued to echo around the giant house, synchronizing with their heartbeats in nervousness. All of their palms were pooling with sweat, but none of them admitted it out loud. Even if they wanted to stop right then, it wasn't an option anymore.

 _The Midnight Man_ was already there. Grinning.

Twenty. Twenty one. _Twenty two._

The last knock made their hearts drop. Ralph, Maurice, and Jack started mentally counting down from twenty two. Roger was standing still in his place, as if he wasn't even breathing. If he was pretending, he was doing a more than great job at it. If he was possessed for real, then they were screwed.

 _Three. Two. One._

The game had begun.

The three at the back scattered to different directions with only one objective in their minds. Hide.

Roger turned around. _The Midnight Man_ who was already there had a grin so wide it stretched from ear to ear.

The smell of a rotten corpse started to fill the room.

* * *

One of the first aspects of the house that Maurice noticed was how gigantic it was. With the size of it, it would be perfect for many activities that required a large space like throwing huge parties or avoiding an entity that now had a physical body and would murder him on sight.

Truth be told, Maurice didn't really believe in _The Midnight Man_ or whoever the spirit thing was. When he split from Jack and Ralph to run, he didn't think Roger was actually possessed. The dark-haired teenager was just faking it for the sake of some good scares. Maurice always knew how much Roger enjoyed being intimidating, so pretending to be possessed by a mysterious ghostly creature would most likely be what he was doing. And, after a while of not finding anyone in this mansion of a house, Roger would just bail and go watch some scary movies instead, leaving them all in their hiding spots.

It had been about fifteen minutes in, and the hall he was on was still silent. Maurice had ran for the east wing of the house, and had climbed about two flights of stairs. He would say he was on the second floor, not that far from the main entrance, where they had planned to meet up if, by the slimmest of chances, anything went wrong. Around the hall echoed his heavy breaths and footsteps as he slowed down, laughing at himself silently in his head for taking this too seriously. In fact, he had been running so mindlessly that he even forgot to turn his flashlight on. He pulled it out of his pocket and switched it on.

The light shone at Roger's ghostly pale face.

Maurice's breath hitched as he staggered a few steps backward, not expecting his friend to find him that easily.

"Roger! You're.. fast."

But Roger didn't reply.

"Um.. is everything okay?" Maurice approached the dark-haired friend, the light from the equipment in his hand moved from Roger's head to his torso that was dyed with a crimson liquid. "What happened?"

Again, no replies.

The brunette took a few steps back to enlarge the area of the light. The sound of liquid dripping down repeated in his brain. And there was a head.

This game wasn't a joke.

It took Maurice a second to regain his consciousness and ran to the opposite direction. His hand gripped tightly into his flashlight as he tried not to fall down out of pure fear. He knew why Simon was missing now. Of course it wasn't because he didn't want to play. His head was right there, blood dripping down, eyes opening wide, reflecting the horror that had happened to him. Maurice's other hand covered his mouth, trying his best not to vomit as he thought about the tangy smell of the red liquid and the sickening grin that _literally_ etched from ear to ear across Roger's face. That wasn't Roger, or even a normal human being.

He turned and stopped at a corner. His back leaned against the sturdy wall and he peeked outside, seeing no one. Maurice panted and looked down to his feet that were shaking. Images of the severed head flashed through his mind, making the dark almost unbearable. He flashed the light to in front of him and looked up.

Roger was also there.

Screams burnt his worn-out lungs as he lifted his feet to run again. The light from the equipment in his hand danced around on the floor beneath him in a frenzy as his mouth let out quick and ragged breaths. Maurice turned around to see no one chasing him. Despite that, he still ran, as fast as he could. Fear is an invisible entity, and he knew that now. His feet touched and lifted from the wooden floor, trying to speed up. He rummaged in the large pocket of his pants searching for his phone, wanting to call 911, or just someone, _anyone_ , for help. His hands clumsily grabbed the phone and missed it. The sweat was making it much harder to just _hold_ anything. His heart rate started to accelerate as he kept failing to grab his phone, and stopped as he stepped on some liquid and slipped, fell, and slid across the floor. His toes jammed into the wall painfully, and, as the flashlight rolled to him, he saw the head. Staring. Accusing.

The blood from Simon's head was soaking into the wood of the floor and Maurice's clothing. It was sticky and cold on his toes and socks. Maurice grabbed the flashlight and stood up, trying to not let the image burn in his eyeballs, staying there forever. He shone the light to the other side of him, looking for something helpful, but didn't succeed. His legs trembled as he started walking, looking around, there were still no signs of _him_ yet.

As if on cue, a cold hand gripped at his shoulder, and a butcher knife's blade pressed at his throat.

 _The Midnight Man_ pushed him to the ground and covered his mouth with a foul-smelling hand. Maurice bit into the hand, only to find the piece of disintegrating flesh falling into his mouth. He winced as he tried to scream while not letting himself swallow the maggots that were digging their ways out of their host's dead flesh. His hand slid in his pocket, frantically dialing 911, and he saw the grin again.

In the pale and dead moonlight, Roger's mouth stretched out more than they ever did, revealing sickeningly white teeth and gum and a darkness that swallowed souls.

Maurice's mouth let out its last ever scream as the butcher knife descended down his throat. The crimson liquid gushed out, painting the blade and the pallid skin with its nauseating color. Limbs twitched slightly as another chop echoed around the now-silent hall. And another one. The vertebrae were kind of a problem. And the knife went down again. Soft flesh spilled out.

And the head was off.


	3. Half

Ralph stopped after more than twenty minutes of running. He was well-known for his stamina, but he never thought he could run this much. He leaned on the wall to rest a little, pants escaped his now-exhausted lungs. To be honest, he didn't even expect himself to be this frightened, even if it was just a game. But, after all, they were playing it at midnight, and the house was dark, so he had valid reasons to be scared. Ralph also didn't think Jack's house would be _this_ huge. It was already a gigantic mansion, and the complicated halls with their turns and corners made it seem even bigger.

He always knew the Merridews were rich, but they couldn't be _this_ rich.

Thoughts aside, Ralph dug inside his shirt pocket to find his phone. It couldn't have been that Roger was possessed. He liked all kinds of creepy stuff, so it was only natural that he would pretend so that he could scare people. It was Halloween, so Ralph let him have his way. Maybe the scream he had heard just now was only Roger trying to frighten everybody.

It was fortunate for Ralph that Jack's house had complete wifi coverage, or else he would die of boredom. He turned the phone on, seeing that he already had a screen full of notifications from his Instagram and Facebook. There were also a few messages from the girls he was hitting on for fun. As it turned out, Tinder wasn't a bad way to entertain himself. Ralph typed in his passcode and went to the Instagram app. He ignored all the comments saying that he was good-looking on some of his selfies, only replying to the interesting ones that were usually Jack's. The ginger always knew how to turn his jealousy into humor, and Ralph couldn't help that he looked better than Jack. He chuckled at some of the comments of the creepy girls who "shipped" him and Jack together, thinking of how ridiculous it would be if it happened in real life, which it wouldn't. They were both straight guys, and they knew it. He scrolled down the screen with his thumb , and his eyes glanced pass the time on top of the screen.

It said _0:00_.

But it couldn't be saying that, since they started playing the game at exactly midnight. Ralph thought that maybe he was just too scared and had started hallucinating, then rubbed his eyes. He looked at the screen again.

It stayed the same.

There was something wrong with the game.

Adrenaline pumped into his blood as Ralph ran as fast as he could to the first floor. The stairs were unusually steep, and they made him almost trip over for a few times. His feet stepped into some liquid, but he had no time to consider what it was, and he didn't think he wanted to know, either. He started breathing out from his mouth the more he ran, and when he had reached the bottom floor, his lungs were burning with needs for air. He doubled over and started panting. Sweat rolled down from his forehead, but it seemed like the heating system in the Merridew's mansion had been turned off a long time ago.

Ralph approached the back door just to check on it, even though his legs were shaking tremendously. He was pretty sure he didn't believe in the "disembody then leave it at the door" part of the story at first, but as he saw it, he couldn't even convince himself it was only his brain anymore. They were right there, as vivid as ever, in the cold moonlight. The tangy, iron scent made its way to his nostrils, entangling itself with his smell receptors, making some of his recent dinner crawl back up his esophagus. Red trails followed individual body parts to where they piled up in front of the back door, blocking the exit. Limbs were on top of each other, dripping blood down to the floor. Glop. Glop. _Glop._

There was a head on top of them all.

At least Ralph knew where Simon went now.

He slowly stepped back, trying to ignore the fact that he had just stepped on some of the red liquid that used to be in his friend's body. His heart started beating faster, and so did his lungs that were trying to take in air. And the scent grew stronger as he inhaled it more. Some of his dinner was sloshing around in his mouth now, and Ralph had to swallow them back down, but he couldn't. His sweaty palms quivered as he ran to the front door, where everyone decided to meet up if this happened. He fumbled with the flashlight as he tried to shine its weak light to his path. The door was just a few feet away. Ralph felt a tinge of hope and sprinted to it. And, as he bumped to the wooden surface, his hand frantically reached for the knob, twisting and turning it even though sweat was pouring more out from his palms. There was nothing chasing him, but he knew there was something watching, scrutinizing his every move.

The door was locked.

Ralph slowly shook his head. It couldn't be– No, no, no, _no_. They had all agreed to leave the door open, in case of emergency, so why was it locked? The only reasonable explanation was the one he chose not to think of, but there were no other options, now, but to believe it. The Midnight Man was real.

As he backed away, Ralph's feet kicked into something soft. His heel dug into the squishy material, and there was also a liquid of some sort. He didn't want to know what it was, but had no other choice, as he had already turned around. His flickering flashlight was shone on it, and, immediately, Ralph threw up his dinner. He bent over as the content of his stomach poured out from his mouth, and the brown, still opening eyes of his friend stared at him sickeningly, provoking him to throw up more. His vomit spread on the floor, reaching to and oozing on Maurice's dark brown hair. The blonde shut his eyes, trying not to look at his friend in the eye and straighted his body, wiping the remains of his dinner on his sleeve. The flashlight in his hand was flickering, and soon, it would be out of battery.

The smell of a rotten corpse filled his lungs.

"Shh.." Someone was shushing behind his back. Ralph's shoulder shook as he stiffened, feeling cold hands on his neck and nails trailing down his spine. "Can't you see they're sleeping. Screaming won't do any good." Sharp edges dug down his skin as Ralph's breaths accelerated. His body was still stiff, and he couldn't even run if he wanted to. "Besides, no one can hear you anyway."

Like a sudden burst of energy, Ralph darted away and started heading towards the hall to his left. His flashlight's battery was out, so he threw it away, and, instead, used his phone's flashlight. The hall was dark and cold, but there was a light switch at the end, and maybe switching the lights on would help him somewhat. His breath was ragged as he opened his phone again and searched through his contact to find Jack. He needed to call him.

 _ **[The subscriber you have called is not available. Please try again later.]**_

Ralph ended the call as he leaned on the wall at the end of the hall. Why? Why _the fuck_ wasn't Jack available? He turned to his left and saw the light switch. His hand quickly reached up to it and pressed on it, but the lights didn't turn on.

The lights. Didn't. Turn. On.

As if in a frenzy, Ralph repeatedly pressed on the light switch. There were no signs of the lights turning on, which was what he needed. The blonde searched through his contacts again, trying to find anyone he could call for help. He pressed in Piggy's number and held the phone to his ear, teeth biting at his lips as he waited.

 _ **[The subscriber you have called is not available. Please try again–]**_

His palms were drenched in sweat as he scrolled down for another number. Sam?

 _ **[The subscriber you have called is not available. Please–]**_

Eric?

 _ **[The subscriber you have–]**_

Robert?

 _ **[The subscriber you–]**_

Mom?

 _ **[The subs–]**_

Dad?

 _ **[The–]**_

 _911?_

"911, what's your emergency?" A woman on the other side answered the call. Ralph let out a sigh of relief as he leaned onto the wall again, uneven breaths filled the phone's speaker. "Hel–"

She was cut off. Ralph's eyes widened in shock as he took the phone away from his ear. It had been overheated from the flashlight it was using. He looked in disbelief at the signal sign, seeing the letters _No signal_. It couldn't be. Jack's house wasn't even that far from the city. And the signal was strong the last minute. So why–

A face appeared in front of his eyes.

Ralph gasped at the scent of the disintegrating flesh. Spots of red flesh stained the ghostly pale face, and white larva were digging their way out of the host. They wriggled out and crawled on the ragged skin, some of them falling out of the host and roamed aimlessly on the floor. The eyes were black, pitch black, opaquely black, like an endless void that sucked every miserable soul inside and fed on them. Ralph's eyes were diverted to behind the body's – that wasn't Roger anymore– back.

"Oh this?" The pallid hand raised up, seeming to have no trouble with a heavy-looking object. Ralph fliched as the cold and sharp edge touched his arm. The chain made a clanking sound as it collided with the metal of the blade. It was a chainsaw.

The blonde felt his chest heaving and falling with every heavy breath. Roger was much shorter than him, but that wasn't Roger. Roger didn't decapitate people and his skin didn't decompose and there weren't _maggots_ crawling out of him. The two corners of the mouth stretched out to form a grin that was so wide it showed a complete set of nauseatingly white teeth and eyes.

Eyes. Staring.

Ralph broke free to run away again. He didn't want to turn back, even though he knew _The Midnight Man_ didn't need to chase to get him. In his ears reverberated the sounds of the chainsaw being turned on. Vrmm.

Vrmm.

 _Vrmm._

Fuck.

 _Fuck._

He knew he needed to find Jack, but he didn't know where. He only knew that the redhead had headed for the west wing of the house, so he went there, the sound of the chainsaw still following him. One minute it was close, the other it sounded faded and far away. Ralph ran up the stairs. This mansion couldn't be this large, and maybe if he yelled, Jack would hear him and come to help. So he yelled _Jack_ as loud as possible, ignoring the entity that could be anywhere in this place, and ignoring the fact that the person he was looking for might not even be _alive_ anymore. His lungs were on fire, but he wanted to live. His voice went hoarse from screaming, and he wished that _damn asshole_ would just appear right away like some _Deus ex Machina_ , or at least had a smaller house. And right when he was about to give up screaming, he shone his flashlight into the mop of curly red hair at the end of the hall. All Ralph needed to do now was reach to Jack.

But that was his last thought, before the chainsaw jammed itself in his stomach. The sound of the engine and his internal organs sloshing around the body mixed together, creating a sick and twisted ballad under the cold moonlight. Red splashed all over the moon's silver surface, staining it with its rusty stench. The chainsaw's blade was dragged down, separating Ralph's abdomen in half. The limp body fell down, guts and intestines spilled out like the filling of a pie. The chainsaw stabbed into the body again, and dragged itself up, dividing the upper body into uneven halves before stopping at the neck. The head was special, so it needed to stay in one piece. The blade stabbed down one last time, disembodying the head.

 _The Midnight Man_ pulled Ralph's phone away from his hand. He opened the camera and took a photo of his handy work. Using Ralph's Instagram account, he posted the photo.


	4. Parts

**_So I can't find a way to queue a chapter on AO3 as well as , and, as a result, this chapter will be posted on these two websites earlier than on Tumblr and Wattpad._**

* * *

 ** _Sorry for the hiatus. The deadline for this chapter was actually on Halloween, guess I have been procrastinating too much. I will never actually get used to being in school to be honest._**

 ** _Now, without further ado, the grand finale._**

* * *

Jack slammed the heavy door close as he fell into the revelation that everything he had ever done, every choice he had made, had lead to him being in the dark basement of his house, panting and praying that what had been murdering his friends would leave him alone.

It was a dick move, fleeing without at least helping his friends, but if that was what it took to survive, Jack was glad he had done it. Leaning against the door with the mechanical sound of a chainsaw echoing around the house as the background, he took a glance around the room. There was nothing to see but whatever that was being illuminated by his flashlight. He tried to slow his breathing rate, though his heart was still thumping wildly. He knew it wasn't the time to rest, but his legs were almost liquid and he used to think he would never be that terrified his whole life. Jack wasn't the kind to fret over petty jump scare scenes in horror movies, but that was different. He hadn't been in the movie then, but he sure as shit knew how those protagonists felt now. Lingering on the floor, Jack contemplated his next move, something that would keep him alive long enough for the game to stop, or at least until he found a way to end it completely. In horror movies, the ghosts usually didn't attack when it was bright, so maybe if he turned on all the lights, he would be safe. That had to be a good plan, right?

The blood-curling scream made it to Jack's ears the same time as the roars of the heavy duty machine. He could make it out in front of his eyes, vivid as ever, the long blade stabbing into his blonde friend's body, organs wallowing in their container, the thick, dark red liquid splattering on the fancy wallpaper that his mother had spent hours picking out. Swallowing, Jack sensed something cold crawling up his spine, or maybe it was a drop of sweat slowly rolling down the length of his back. Whatever it was, it spawned from the vision he just had of Ralph, so maybe he would be better off not thinking about the friend that he abandoned. Jack shone the light around the basement, looking for the fuse box. Before the game, Maurice and him both agreed on turning off all the lights to create the atmosphere, but now that everything had turned out to be like this, the whole atmosphere ordeal seemed extremely unnecessary. The chainsaw was still busy dividing Ralph's body into parts, it seemed, and Jack knew he had until the noise stopped to turn the lights back on.

He could faintly make out the shape of the life-saving metal box. With a sigh of relief, Jack ran to it, listening to the sound of his friend's body being dismembered as guilt took over him. It was for the best, he told himself, but there was no time to fuss about that. He had his own life to save, and the only way to do it was to turn all the lights on. Maybe he would develop nyctophobia after this, but he would think about that later, when he would be engulfed in the safety of the lights. Jack fumbled with the key that opened the fuse box in his pocket, shoving the piece of metal in almost clumsily. He twisted and jerked it a little to get it open, holding the flashlight with his mouth to better coordinate, and opened the small metal door. His eyes scanned through the switches, looking for one that said "lights". When he had found it, Jack reached his hand and switched all the lights on, eyes hopeful as if he had seen his safe haven.

All the noises from the chainsaw stopped at once.

Was that it? Or what if it was only that _The Midnight Man_ had finished dismembering Ralph? Jack chose to believe the first theory, that everything was stopped, at least for now. But all the lights had been switched off before Jack decided to cut their supplies of electricity. He still had to go out of that safe basement with the house still filled with darkness, pressing on every light switch just to temporarily feel safe. Jack knew he didn't have much time. He needed to ward off the monster before it found him, carrying a chainsaw and ready to cut him up and make him himself for dinner. For a while, he was completely still, listening to footsteps but knowing that it would be useless, that the entity would have been in the basement right behind him if it wanted to. It seemed like it didn't want to reveal itself to him yet, or maybe Roger was fighting back to regain his body. Whatever the reason might be, Jack just wanted to survive. His hand roamed across the surface of the table in front of him until he could feel the sharp metal edge of an axe. The basement was where his father kept all the lumberjack shit of his, hence the existence of the heavy duty chainsaw. Jack wondered if it would hurt to just leave all those equipments behind in their townhouse back in Oregon, as there were clearly more trees there to chop down.

Jack's hand trailed down the wooden handle of the axe and picked it up. He set the flashlight on the table and held the weapon with both hands. It was lighter than he imagined, but then, again, it might just be the adrenaline pumping through his body. He let out a sigh as he unconsciously shifted his weight to his other leg. An axe against a chainsaw wouldn't make a fair fight, but it was the strongest defense he had. The guns were in his parents' safe, and he didn't know the combination to it. Jack wasn't sure if they would do much good anyway, because it wasn't Roger who was going around murdering everyone, it was the entity, and it could still control the body like a zombie even if the brain was dead.

Now that he had realized it, the house was unbearably cold. Outside, it was fall, which meant the weather would be fairly cool, but not cold enough to make his shoulders shiver. Jack felt the cold blade, someone must have fucked with the air conditioner. Considering that the chainsaw was also in the basement before this, it might as well have been _The Midnight Man_. Jack muttered a swear under his breath before picking up the flashlight again and shone it around the room, looking for the fuse box that controlled all the air conditioning in the house, specifically, the heaters. Corpses decay slower in cold temperature, and Jack didn't know how, exactly, that would help _The Midnight Man_. Nonetheless, he knew he would either be murdered horrifically or freeze to death if the temperature kept that way.

Though, for a fast and murderous entity such as _The Midnight Man_ , it seemed to be giving Jack too much time.

The redhead shrugged it off and pretended not to care about the suspicious advantage he was having over the attacker, and just focused on finding the fuse box. It should be around there somewhere. The light traveled along the walls, giving him sights of the tools hanging on the racks hammered to the bricks that were intentionally left unpainted. Shining the light higher, he saw the box, metal, painted in a light gray color. And he was supposed to be happy when he saw it, because it meant that he would no longer have to worry about freezing to death, but he couldn't. Something was trapped inside of his throat, and he tried his hardest to swallow it down, because dripping from the inside of the fuse box– his potential life saver, was a crimson liquid, and on the metal that was supposed to be the handle were red fingerprints. He knew _The Midnight Man_ had been down here, else it wouldn't have been able to lay its hands on the chainsaw, but he didn't know it would leave a surprise present for people who could think of turning the heaters back on. Taking in a breath, Jack debated if he should open the box. He was well aware that he didn't have much time, that he never _had_ time in the first place. Thinking he had seen everything possible today– Simon's decapitated head, the limbs, the pools of blood that flooded the floor, the look of terror that was still plastered on Maurice's face, Jack decided against opening the box. He didn't want what was in there to scar him for life, that meaning he get out alive.

Reaching for the light switch on the wall, Jack turned on the lights in the basement. It was a dim light, orange-ish in color, and warm in a way that brought him comfort. Maybe he could just stay in there for the rest of the night. It wasn't like _The Midnight Man_ could even survive in a lit space anyway. Instinctively, Jack searched his pocket for his phone, and fished it out. He stood, leaning on the wall, and press the small rectangular button on top of the device to turn it on. His home screen was a photo of his two ginger cats who were left in his townhouse, and on it displayed the time.

 _0:00._

Time stopped. That was what he got from the numbers. Jack knew _The Midnight Man_ would find a way to cheat and make the game last longer, but he didn't know it would be like this. Having heard Ralph attempting to call for help, Jack thought it would be best if he didn't try to save his friend; it wouldn't work anyway. He had intentionally ignored Ralph's calls, knowing he could have gotten himself killed if he so much as tried to help. The redhead gripped the axe tighter, not realizing that he had been holding it all the time. At least he had a weapon and wasn't as defenseless as his friends. Maybe Jack could stand a chance against that thing. He opted not to go offensive though. If there was one lesson he learnt from slasher movies, it would be that the murderer would always out-violent you. It would be better if he stayed in the safety of the lights until the end of _the game_ , even when it meant forever.

But the lightbulb, of course, couldn't work for that amount of time, and Jack knew he would have to face the darkness again soon. And when that happened, _The Midnight Man_ would be waiting, drumming Roger's pale fingers impatiently against the floorboard above Jack's head like it was doing right now. Its eyes would watch as Jack moved out of his safe basement, helpless, for his only savior would be the artificial light hanging above his head in a material so fragile it would break the moment it touched the ground. Then the grin of the creature would widen, blood would paint its mouth and hands like a clown who decided to go all out.

Heat drained from his face at the thought. Jack gulped, trying to push the vision out of his head, now that he knew it could happen.

The light flickered.

The chainsaw dove through the cement ceiling as if the laws of physics didn't apply anymore. Dust fell down from the ceiling as that tiniest source of comfort was violently ripped away from Jack.

Fucked. He was completely, and utterly, fucked.

"Fucking heavy duty shit." He mumbled under his breath as his hands frantically gripping the door handle and turning it, still having hold of the axe. He couldn't let it go, especially in a situation like this, when defense was crucial. The chainsaw kept on with its horrendous song, successfully cutting through the lightbulb's wire as Jack pushed the door open and followed the momentum to fall face-flat on the floor. But he didn't have time to just lie on the ground. He pushed himself up with his elbows and started running. His breath hitched. He didn't have _time_. Fuck.

The cut-out cement crashed on the basement floor. Loudly. But Jack kept running. Why should he turn back? Why should he stand still, shell-shocked, when there was clearly time to escape? Fucking hell. Screw horror movies' protagonist tropes. He needed to survive. His lanky body leaned forward, bolting for the front door. He had seen all of it. Simon and Maurice's heads and all their dismembered bodies. They couldn't scare him more than they already had. All he did was run. Run away from what scared him. From things unbeknownst to him. His eyes started straining, unfamiliar with the dark surroundings. He had already become dependent on the light. _Too_ dependent.

Static-like noises beat repeatedly against his eardrums. Jack swallowed as he ran, hoping he could gulp in some air. His hands blindly grasped everywhere. Goddammit. His breathing went erratic once again. The door handle must be somewhere in that fucking endless darkness. His head turned around as his feet carried him away, watching out for _The Midnight Man_. He swallowed. His pulse went crazy. And he bumped into the door.

It caught him off-guard, the cool surface of the polished oak wood and the slippery liquid seeping into his socked feet. He didn't want to know what the liquid was. He did. His throat dried out quickly as he opened his mouth to gasp for oxygen. Tangy and sour scents fought each other to attack his nostrils and esophagus, as if daring him to throw up. The exhaustion from running was catching up with him. Jack walked back a few steps, or, rather, tried to. The bones in his legs were noodles. Frail. Shaken. Unable to move. There was something even more terrifying than the knowledge of the liquid's name. Jack couldn't tell what it was, but he knew it existed.

By then, his eyes had adjusted to the dark. He scanned around the room, and knew better than to look down to his feet. Maybe there was something about the basement's light that made him think it was pitch black, because now he could briefly sense the moonlight shining in from one of the windows. Jack looked at the door once again. That panel of wood was the only thing separating him from the safety of the outside world. _The Midnight Man_ was restraint to the mansion, he knew that. Smugly, Jack allowed the corners of his mouth to pull up. His hand reached out for the door knob, drenched in victory, completely forgetting about his suspicious advantage over the entity. His fingers curled around the metal, pushing it down with some force, and his arm was separated.

By a roaring chainsaw.

The upper arm touched the ground first. The forearm followed, laying flat on the wet floor, accompanied by five bony fingers. Wet, hot liquid flowed out of the open end, drowning the cut, ragged skin. A bit of the white bone showed, sickeningly tainted with crimson flesh. All hot colors looked cool in the moonlight. Cold colors looked even more so. The chainsaw stopped. But it had only been the start of its wonderful sonata.

Again, Jack ran. For his life. Not even bothering to cover his injury. He bolted where his feet would allow him to, functioning alone on the adrenaline pumping into his blood and pouring out from the open wound. He completely lost track of where he was. Unaware of his surroundings - ones that should have been much more familiar to him than anyone else. Static-like noises growled in his ears once again. But all he cared about was finding the way to escape the house. The adrenaline in his blood was running out. His wound started to sting. He had been unaware of its existence until he looked. Jack stopped. Dead in his track.

 _Run, you fucking dumbass._

But he didn't run. The more he stared at it, the more the knowledge of the missing limb seeped into his mind. The pain went up exponentially. And as cold breeze grazed against his flesh, he screamed. The sound of his voice teared through his dry throat, ripping apart his vocal cords. He didn't dare to touch it, knowing it would only make him worse. His knees couldn't stand the loss of blood. They collapsed, bringing his whole body down with them.

 _If you run now, you'll probably make it to the window before it catches up._ He told himself, instantly doubting every word. Which floor he was on, he had no idea. His head started spinning, and his consciousness was visibly slipping away. Like sand in an hourglass. What if he just let _The Midnight Man_ have what it wanted?

Jack choked at the thought. Giving up was an option, but he didn't know if he wanted to choose it or not. His face fell flat on the floor, a side of it lit by the moon. The brown flecks of freckles were covered by the blood splatters that he had just been aware of. He let out labored breaths as blood continued to flow out of the open wound, though the amount had declined. His fingers clenched tight, subconsciously gripping the axe's handle, now that he had stopped screaming, to hold in another outburst. If only The Midnight Man would just stop procrastinating on killing him, it would have been salvation. A quick kill was much more of a solution than waiting for him to lose blood, painfully and tediously, as he saw the light at the end of his tunnel.

 _Light._

As if triggered, Jack hoisted himself up, his head slamming into the wall as blood was still pouring out from him. He leaned on the wall and walked as his body pressed on it to the nearest light switch. His eyes glanced around the room to find any clues of a hidden attacker, but found none. Or maybe it was only the blood loss that was slackening his vision. Nevertheless, he kept walking. The knowledge of a missing arm was starting to take its toll on him. The more he thought about it, the more the pain intensified. But his shoulder touched the light switch, and all he could think of then was that he would be safe.

His hand reached the switch and pressed on it. The blinding light met his eyes, though it didn't matter because he was safe. Safe under the lights. Jack figured this one spot would have him backed up alright. He walked, uncoordinatedly, to the window, and looked down. Either he was on the second floor, or his orientation had gotten so fucked up that he mistook the third floor for the second. Jumping down was the decision that would either make or break the safe cocoon he had situated himself in.

Or did he?

When he turned around, _The Midnight Man_ was there.

Waiting.

With the blinding lights still illuminating that corner of the hallway - _his safe cocoon_.

There were no sounds escaping his mouth, and there were none leaving the entity's. Roger's body, from the start, had only been a putrid, decomposing vessel that _The Midnight Man_ used to survive in the had been dead from the beginning of the game. There were no reasons left for Jack to even remotely consider it to be his friend.

"Good evening," it said, tone maliciously smooth. Inhuman.

Jack was frozen for a second as blood drained from the vessels underneath his face. His cheeks went cold as if he had been standing out in the snow for hours. There was something stuck in his throat that he couldn't quite swallow, though he couldn't just throw it up either. His eyes opened wide, but his pupils contracted. A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead despite the lack of heat.

 _The Midnight Man_ didn't make a move either, so Jack acted on instinct. The blade of the axe slashed upward, making a cut on its way. It was only a shallow cut, as Jack, before all this came down, was completely dependent on his right hand. He couldn't do severe damage with his left, but at least he had something to defend himself with. He knew he had more strength than the body Roger had left behind, and he knew The Midnight Man was restricted to that body.

 _Was he?_

As though answering his question, Roger's frail body collapsed on the ground. The chainsaw fell heavily on the wooden floor, and nothing was in front of Jack anymore. But there was still something, an ethereal presence that prevented him from letting out the relieved breath he had been holding in for so long. The lights were still on, but he had realized that they made no difference.

The ethereal presence started to take a form. It looked like a humanoid figure, but was too vague to actually tell. Dull pigments started coloring it, save for the insides. The figure made its way toward Jack, and the closer it was to him, the more vivid it appeared. Its body was divided to two uneven halves, with the exception of the head. Organs were barely kept inside their container and fell out in messy globs. The figure gave off a rancid scent, something along the lines of stomach acid and decaying corpses. Its head tipped sideway, almost falling off the neck.

Jack could now identify the figure by the tell-tale blond hair. He crawled backward with his elbow and feet, not wanting to fight Ralph, knowing he would have no chance of survival in a state like that against some dead person who only came alive for vengeance. Ralph's body bent down so that he could reach the chainsaw. He was see-through, yet the chainsaw was steadily held. His mouth opened wide, revealing a seemingly endless black void, and from that voice came screams of pain. Of despair. Of hopelessness.

"Jack!"

Ralph inched closer as Jack moved further away. He was almost at the boundary between the light and the dark. But what difference would it make anyway?

"Help!"

The voice teared its way through his ear canal, imprinting itself on the wrinkles of his brain. It multiplied, slurring together, but still clear as ever. His chest rose and fell quickly, making shallow breaths escape his gaping mouth. He wasn't so dumb as to try and throw the axe - his only weapon - at the attacker. He knew it wouldn't affect an already-dead body. So he kept crawling backward, getting himself ready to be immersed in darkness once again. At least then he wouldn't have to see his fear.

But his back touched something cold. That something gripped into his shoulders, sharp claws buried so deep in his flesh blood started to flow out again. Jack looked up, seeing nothing but the ceiling. And Ralph. Some of the blood from a dangling intestine dropped to his stomach. Fetid. The chainsaw's blade lied directly on top of his left arm, just an inch away from his armpit. The screams were still on-going, and he doubted that they would ever stop. The chainsaw was activated. And something kept Jack's arm flat on the ground. Unable to move. Powerless. Incapable of self-defense.

The inhuman voice rang in his ears again.

"He wants revenge." It whispered.

The chainsaw was jammed down. Jack's scream became one with that of Ralph. His hair turned damp from the warm liquid inside of his own body as his remaining arm was disconnected from his body. A drop of tear rolled down from the corner of his eye, the water that was on there blurred the world that he could see. The pain ripped through his chest, straight up to his brain. His heartbeat skyrocketed as he winced to conceal the pain. His body still heavy as lead. Still couldn't move. But the rotating blade had already been hovering on top of his legs.

Screams. Shouts. Blood.

"Help me! Help! Jack! Help! Jack! _Jack!_ "

His mouth opened wide to take in some air that wasn't going to be too precious. His lungs burnt out from the endless shrieks and cries of agony. His nerves raised with signals from countless nociceptors. The heart continued to pump blood in a hurry, having no idea that none of it would be circulating the body. Jack didn't dare to open his eyes. He didn't dare to look. He didn't dare to accept it. That he had become a limbless torso.

But he had to open his eyes. Not that he wanted to. His eyelids were cut off by some invisible force, and he shrieked once more. Red splattered on the whites of his eyeballs. It stung. But he had no arms left to wipe that away. He saw the empty ceiling again. Something forced him to look at the figure. It stepped away from him, handing the chainsaw to the corpse that had just risen from the floor. Pallor skin bore holes and rips from decomposition. Eyes discolored and dead just like any other lifeless body. Roger– It took the chainsaw in its hand and walked to Jack.

"You have to see your executioner, don't you?" The inhuman voice rose again. It sounded near, as if the speaker was sitting right next to him. "After all, he also wants _his_ revenge."

The corpse's mouth opened as it approached.

"-Jack..he..l...p-"

There had been a phone call.

[-You have reached Jack Merridew's voice mail. Please leave a message after "meat"-]

[-Meat-]

[-Hey, this may not be the perfect time for this, but can you come over? I need your help. Long story short, I accidentally summoned a ghost thing to my house that will murder me on sight and-..amn..t signal-]

[-Fuck, okay, I really need y-]

[-Come here righ-]

[-Pick the fuck up! Jack! Help me!-]

[-HELP! JAC-]

[-Jack..he..l..p-]

The rotating blade hovered above his neck.

"It was his fault." Jack whispered, barely audible, trying to decipher what he was feeling. "He played the game. H-he–"

The head joined other body parts in their crimson pool party.

The inhuman voice laughed, calmly and smoothly, as the corpse crashed on the ground with a working chainsaw.

"Hell is boring. Didn't you know?"

* * *

 ** _Yeah, sorry if the ending is a little confusing, and I couldn't help but add some humor into it, so this isn't really your traditional horror story where some people live, though I feel like it's a good way to end the story. (Feel free to ask me though if you are really confused about the ending and can't decipher it no matter how much of a genius you are!)_**

 ** _Happy New Year everyone! Hope all of you will have a great 2017!_**


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